


Don't Mess With The Dead

by myRandomness_18



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Psychological Torture, Sherlock Holmes on a Case, Sort Of, The Mob, Torture, criminal organization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-13 03:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20575676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myRandomness_18/pseuds/myRandomness_18
Summary: Sherlock gets a case that he can't turn down, even (especially) when Mycroft warns him not to pursue it. But maybe this is the case that will be too much for Sherlock.(I don't really have a timeline for when in the show this takes place, but definitely before TRF).ON HIATUS





	1. Double Dead (The Case Begins)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So yes, this is a rewrite of the story that I already had posted (but didn't finish). After rereading it, I realized that it hadn't turned out how I wanted it to, and I didn't know how to fix it. I really didn't want to abandon it so instead I rewrote it. I'll try to update this one more regularly (I have people to shame me if I don't write at all in a week/encourage me to write more, so that should help). This chapter is similar to the first chapter from the original, but I did change and add things. Also it's really late right now and I don't have a beta, so sorry for any mistakes there may be, please point them out if you find any. (Please let me know if I need to change the rating/add more tags, I may add more as I write).
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! Feel free to leave constructive criticism in the comments!

John Watson hurriedly paid the cabbie and got out of the black cab that had driven him to Baker Street. He walked up to the door that had a gold 221 on it. He opened the door then walked up the stairs to 221B, hoping that his flatmate hadn’t completely destroyed the place while he was gone. He couldn’t hear any gunshots, so that was a good sign.

John opened the door and walked in to find his flatmate, ‘The Great Sherlock Holmes’ laying on the couch, eyes closed, with hands steepled under his nose. He took a quick glance around, but everything seemed to be how he’d left it that morning. 

“Have you done anything at all today?” He asked Sherlock, not really figuring he would get a response.

He was right, of course, the detective didn’t give any sign he even knew John had returned. John sighed and went into the kitchen to make tea. He put on the kettle then took out two mugs, putting a bag in each. When he went to the fridge to get milk, there was none. John huffed and muttered to himself, “He’s been home doing nothing all bloody day, could’ve at least gotten some milk.”

John brought the two mugs back to the living room, setting one on the table in front of the couch, and bringing the other to his chair, along with the remote.

“Finally,” Sherlock said in an exasperated huff, jumping up from his prone position on the couch.  
“Finally what?” John asked, startled.

“Tea.” Sherlock replied, grabbing said beverage and taking a sip which surely must have burned his mouth, but if it did, he didn’t give any indication. “I asked you to make some hours ago. Why is there no milk in it?”

“Hours… Sherlock, I was at work hours ago!”

“Hardly my fault.” Was all the reply John got.

John huffed, annoyed. “And there is no milk in your tea because we’re out.”

“Then you should go get some more.” At this, Sherlock returned to his former position on the couch, this time with his hands wrapped around the cup of tea now resting on his chest.  
“Why don’t you get it for a change? It’s not like you’re busy.” But John knew the conversation was over, and Sherlock had most likely tuned him out to return to whatever he was thinking about.

John picked up the remote to turn on the television. He flipped through a few channels when Sherlock suddenly jumped off of the couch and went to look out the window. “We have a case!” He told John, his features arranging themselves into a mask of excitement, before quickly composing himself. There was a knock at the door, and before either John or Sherlock could make a move to go to it, it opened of its own volition. Or, rather, the volition a distraught looking Detective Inspector Lestrade.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, walking over to stand near John, who had stood up when Lestrade entered. “It had better be something worth my time.”

“It’s a weird one Sherlock, and I mean really weird.”

“Text me the details, we’ll meet you there.”

\----

After Lestrade left, Sherlock hurried to his room to get dressed. Then he practically ran down the stairs, John close behind him, to the street where he hailed a cab. They got in, Sherlock told the cabbie where they were going, and they were off.

They drove for about twenty minutes before finally arriving at the crime scene. When they stopped, Sherlock jumped out of the cab, leaving John to pay the cabbie and follow at a more leisurely pace. He walked up beside Lestrade, and took in the scene. 

They were a little ways from the road, beside a shallow pond -it looked as if it would only come to about John’s waist if he were to stand exactly in the middle of it- that was at the edge of a small forest. Almost directly in the center of the pond was the body of a man, half buried in the mud at the bottom. The man looked to be in his mid thirties, was wearing a cheap suit with black gloves, and had dark brown hair with a few specks of grey in it.

As John took all of this in, glancing at Sherlock, who was probably making far more deductions that he was, he tried to figure out what was so weird about it. 

Lestrade cleared his throat, earning the attention of both John and Sherlock. “The victim is Howard Bargroff. He was a banker, but he fell into a lot of debt a few years back. He should be thirty-six.”

“Should be?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, because that’s how old he was when he died. Four years ago.”

John stared at Lestrade, appalled. “So he was already dead before he was murdered?”

Lestrade looked up at Sherlock, as did John. “Now you see why I need you?” He asked. Sherlock looked ecstatic. “I need to examine the body.”

John and Sherlock waited, the latter eminently impatient, for the forensics team to extract the body from the pond and lay it on the body bag that it would later be put inside to be taken to Bart’s mortuary. Sherlock crouched down beside it to begin inspecting it.

John watched with a mix of fascination and disgust as Sherlock examined every inch of the body and then proceed to remove shoes. At first John didn’t understand what had prompted Sherlock to do this, but then he saw it, or rather lack thereof. The man, Howard Bargroff, had no toes. Sherlock’s face remained expressionless, he then moved up to where the man’s hands were and removed the black gloves. Carved into his palms were symbols, on the left hand it appeared to be a backwards z or a lightning bolt, on the right was an o or maybe a zero with an x through it.

John didn’t know what to make of this, but he assumed Sherlock had some theories. He was startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock demanding he take a look at the body.

John crouched down next to the body, much as Sherlock had though he supposed he would deduce much less. When John was finished he stood up with a slightly disturbed expression on his face.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, studying John’s expression.

“His toes were removed while he was still alive, and he was also still alive when the symbols were carved into his palms,” John replied, looking at Sherlock, then turning to Lestrade as he finished.

“Just as I suspected.” John and Lestrade both turned to face Sherlock as he said this, nut Sherlock was back at the body, re-examining the hands. Suddenly Sherlock stood and started walking back towards the road. “Well John, we best be off. I expect I’ll be seeing you soon Gary.”

“Sorry Greg,” John told Lestrade, wondering what Sherlock was thinking.

Lestrade sighed. “S’all right, just make sure to tell me if he gets anything.”

“Will do,” John promised starting to follow Sherlock to the cab when he heard someone begin speaking to him.

“Still hanging around with the freak?” Sally Donovan asked him as she approached, seemingly out of nowhere. “If you need help finding a new flatmate, just let me know. I’m sure I’d be able to find someone. Besides, anyone would be better than the freak.”

John turned to her, annoyance clear in his features. “No thank you, Sally. I’m very happy with my living arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” John hurried away, hearing Sally call after him, “Just let me know if you change your mind!” John missed the small smile on her face as she said this, knowing that he would never take her up on her offer.

John hopped into the cab next to Sherlock, who didn’t say anything, and closed the door. The cab started moving and John watched as the crime scene slid away.

\----

“Sherlock,” John began as they arrived back in their flat on Baker Street, “did you even tell Lestrade what you ‘deuced’ at the crime scene?”

“I need to confirm my theory first,” Sherlock told him, walking over to John’s laptop. 

“Right, and how did you know that the man’s toes would be missing?”

“Lucky guess.”

“You don’t guess.”

Sherlock only smirked in response, opening John’s laptop and entering the password. The new password that John had not told Sherlock. “What are you doing with my laptop?”

“Research, John. This is exactly like a case I read about years ago, before I started working with Lestrade. I never solved it, but I think they’re related to the Silver Occedere.”

“Aren’t they some group of criminals, sort of like the Mafia?”

“They do all sorts of things, and if I’m right, they helped Mr. Bargroff fake his death four years ago.” Sherlock stood up straight and turned the laptop to face John. The content on the screen was an old newspaper article. It was about a man named Gary Arthurs, who was found dead in an abandoned factory almost two years after his funeral. He was also missing all his toes, and had strange symbols carved into the palms of his hands, although the article didn’t specify what they looked like. 

By the time John had finished reading the article Sherlock was standing at the door, clearly waiting for John so they could leave.

“I’m assuming you want to go to the factory where Gary Arthurs was found?”

Sherlock nodded, and just as he reached out for the door handle, it was opened, revealing a tall man with an umbrella standing in the threshold.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock groaned, walking back to the living room to flop onto the couch.

“Hello, brother dear,” Mycroft greeted, inviting himself into the flat.

“What do you want?’

“Can’t I just stop in to check on my brother and his flatmate?”

“Mycroft!”

“Very well,” Mycroft sat down in Sherlock’s chair, resting his umbrella across his lap. “I came to warn you to stop working on this new case of yours involving the Silver Occedere.”

“And why would I do that?” Sherlock demanded.

“Because the Silver Occedere is the government's business, and the lovely officers at Scotland Yard are no longer in charge of this case.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. “Then I suppose you can leave now.”

Mycroft stood up, then gazed at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. “I’m being very serious Sherlock, leave this case alone. You don’t want to get caught up with the Silver Occedere.”

“Because if the British government can’t get their hands on them, then I suppose no one else can even try.”

“Sherlock-”

“Goodbye, Mycroft,” Sherlock stood up and ushered Mycroft out of the flat, closing the door in his face before he could say another word.

John gave Sherlock a look before saying, “You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

“Are you kidding? Mycroft telling me not to pursue it is all the more reason I should.”

“Of course,” John muttered to himself.

“Come, John.” Sherlock said, once again standing at the door. “We have a factory to investigate.”


	2. The Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John investigate the factory and start putting clues together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I am so sorry this took so long. I meant to post this chapter weeks ago but I didn't get it finished on time. But better late than never... right? It also isn't as long as I wanted it to be, but hopefully future chapters will be longer. (I'm aiming for about 2k words in future chapters). Anyway, sorry again, and on with the chapter!

The cab stopped in front of a decrepit looking building that was about ten minutes away from London. The factory, John supposed, although it looked as if it could never have been used as one. The building was barely standing, John could see where parts of the walls and ceiling had caved in. It probably wasn’t even safe for anyone to be inside, but John knew that wouldn’t stop Sherlock.

Sherlock had jumped out of the cab and was already halfway to the building by the time John paid the cabbie and ran after him. Now that they were closer, John could read signs saying DO NOT ENTER, and SAFETY HAZARD. Sherlock ignored the signs and waltzed in, John reluctantly following him.

Once they were inside, John glanced around. There were old machines that looked as if they hadn't been used in decades, they were covered in rust, dirt, and dust. John dug his phone out of his pocket to use as a light.

He walked around the main room of the factory, wondering idly where Sherlock had gone off to. He eventually found himself at the back of the factory, shining the light of his phone around, not really sure what he was looking for. Something glinted in the corner of his eye and he quickly turned to look at one of the machines. He moved towards it to get a closer look. Painted onto the side of the machine, with shining silver paint, was what appeared to be a key with wings. Either that or an O on top of a t, with the wings coming out of the O.

John quickly took a picture of the strange symbol then went to find Sherlock. When he finally did find the man, he was in a small office that attached to the main room.

“Sherlock, I think I found something,” John told him, holding up his phone with the picture showing on the screen.

Sherlock quickly turned around and looked at the image. “Where did you find that?” So John lead Sherlock, who was holding several files, to the machine with the key painted onto the side.

Sherlock crouched down and began inspecting the symbol. “Hmm, it’s definitely related to the Silver Occedere.” He abruptly stood up and began walking back towards the entrance of the factory. “Come, John. We must return to the crime scene of Howard Bargroff.” With that Sherlock was out the door, John hurrying after him.

\----

When they finally did make it back to the crime scene, there were no longer any police vehicles or personnel, but instead sleek black vehicles with tinted windows along with very ‘government official’ looking people.

John wondered idly if Mycroft would be there, then immediately threw away that idea as he remembered that the man detested ‘leg work’.

Sherlock and John made their way over, and were immediately stopped by a man in a dark tailored suit with a gun holstered on his waist. “This is an active crime scene, you can’t be here,” the man told them. Sherlock reached into his coat pocket to pull out an ID badge, then he practically shoved it in the man’s face. A second passed before recognition and more than a slight bit of fear, if John wasn’t mistaken, passed over his face. “S-sorry, Sir. Right this way.” Sherlock walked past the man without so much as another glance in his direction.

“Having Mycroft as a brother certainly does have at least a few advantages,” Sherlock mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, showing John the badge. The badge that belonged to Mycroft Holmes. “We need to be quick, they’ll notice soon enough.”

John followed Sherlock around the crime scene. They walked around the pond, then, when Sherlock didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, into the forest. Sherlock kept glancing this way and that, at the ground and up at the high branches of trees, until he finally stopped. John, who didn’t know what they were looking for but was trying to help anyways, almost ran into him.

He followed Sherlock’s gaze, and his eyes landed on a symbol painted on the trunk of a tree, about halfway up. It was a silver key with wings.

John hurriedly took out his phone and snapped a picture of it. As soon as John had put his phone back in his pocket, Sherlock began walking again, this time back out of the forest. They walked past the pond, past all the people investigating, and passed all the vehicles until they were at the road and getting back into their cab. “Baker Street,” Sherlock told the cabbie, and that was all he said.

\----

At least until they were back in their flat on Baker Street.

Sherlock hurried into the living room, pulling out the files he had hidden in his long thick coat. He spread them out over the desk, then walked right into John’s personal space. “Sh-Sherlock, what are you-” Sherlock stepped away, John’s phone in his hand. He unlocked it easily and brought up the two photos that John had taken of the winged key.

“Serial killers and crime organizations are both the same, they think they’re so clever. They think they’ll never get caught, so they leave obvious clues as a joke and they watch as everyone passes them over, and never figure it out.”

John watched Sherlock. He took a seat in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to continue with his explanation. John had learned that if he wanted Sherlock to tell him things, he just had to wait until Sherlock was ready to explain it. After all, what’s a genius without an audience?

It only took about a minute until Sherlock decided he needed to show off. “The symbols on Howard Bargroff’s hands were clearly meant to be an S and an O, symbols for the Silver Occedere. You’d have to be even more stupid than Anderson to not figure that out.”

John agreed with Sherlock on that point. When he had first seen the marks on Howard Bargroff's hands he had been confused, but he quickly put two and two together once Sherlock started talking about the Silver Occedere. "What about the key?"

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a second, then turned back to the files and John’s phone. “I suspect,” he began, “that the key means something specific. Something about the fact that their fake deaths were arranged to get them out of their problems. Howard Bargroff most likely because he owed some people a lot of money, he was obviously a gambling addict. Perhaps that’s why the Silver Occedere killed him, he just couldn’t help himself, he gambled away his second chance at life. The Silver Occedere wouldn’t be happy if someone owed them money and couldn’t pay up. Gary Arthurs was the owner of the factory that he visited. After a while though, the factory got shut down because or something about safety violations or not following proper procedures. Gary lost everything because of that, so obviously the easy thing to do was to fake his own death, but he needed help, therefore he went to the Silver Occedere. They must have lost their use for him though, because they killed him as well.”

John had listened while Sherlock told him all this information, deciding not to wonder how on earth Sherlock had thought there was anything obvious about it. “So how are we supposed to catch a massive criminal organization?” John thought this was a valid question, but judging by Sherlock’s expression when he asked it, the taller man disagreed.

“Obviously we won’t get everyone, but if we can get at least one person who is fairly high up the ladder, then we can hand them over to Mycroft and the government will get information from him to take down the whole organization.”

Of course, John thought, obvious. Why wouldn’t I have thought of that?

"Right. So how do we get someone high up the ladder?"

"Simple." Sherlock started, with a smile that John knew meant the answer was one he probably didn't want to hear. "We do something to get their attention."


	3. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silver Occedere finally get a hold of Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone who is actually reading this! I thank you all so much! I'm hoping to finish this in 4-6 more chapters, but I'm not really sure yet it could be less (or more I suppose, but probably not). I apologize that this took so long, hopefully the next update will be faster. At least this chapter is longer than the other ones! Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Also if you notice any mistakes please, please, please tell me so I can fix them! Thank you!

John was worried. He didn’t know what Sherlock was planning on doing to get the attention of the Silver Occedere, but he knew it couldn’t be something good; or safe. Of course nothing about anything Sherlock did was ever safe.

“Sherlock,” John began to ask as the other man walked into the flat, coming back from who knows where, “are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should just let the government handle it. Mycroft may have been right.”

Sherlock glowered at him. “If we leave it to the government the Silver Occedere won’t be caught. Mycroft was most certainly not right. Besides, they should be contacting me within the next couple of days.”

“What?” John questioned. “Sherlock, what did you do?” If he wasn’t worried earlier (which he had been) he definitely was after hearing Sherlock’s statement.

“I left them a message,” was all the answer John received from the infuriating genius. Sherlock then proceeded to remove his long coat and flop back onto the couch, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. 

“Sherlock.” John sighed and stood up. “You can’t just go around leaving messages for groups of criminals. One of these days something bad is going to happen, and it’ll be your own fault!” John knew that lecturing Sherlock was pointless. He was reckless and didn’t care about danger, only about the thrill of solving a case.

John walked into the kitchen, deciding to make some tea to take his mind off the case. He had gone to the store to buy some milk earlier, since he knew Sherlock wouldn’t have. He put on the kettle and took two mugs out of the cupboard. When the kettle was done he poured the water into the mugs, then added a tea bag, milk, and sugar in each one. He then brought the tea into the living room and placed one mug on the small table in front of the couch, the other he brought with him as he sat back down on his chair.

He turned on his laptop, deciding he might as well start writing something for his blog. Instead of writing though, he found he kept getting distracted and looking over at Sherlock, who was still lying on the couch as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t, but John couldn't help but worry. After all, this wasn’t just some petty criminal, this was a whole organization of criminals, and they weren’t to be messed with. So, of course, Sherlock had to go and mess with them.

Sherlock seemed oblivious to John’s concern. He continued lying on the couch, perhaps thinking about the case, perhaps something else altogether. John never knew what he was thinking, even after years of living with him. He supposed he would probably never figure the man out, but he knew he was closer than anyone else.

\----

Two days had passed since Sherlock had ‘left a message’ for the Silver Occedere. He still hadn’t elaborated on what kind of message he had left, and John had stopped asking, knowing that the man would never tell him unless it was his decision to.

Sherlock was once again lying on his back on the couch, hands steepled in front of his mouth. He had done that a lot in the past couple of days.

John was sitting in his chair, his computer on his lap. He was writing about a previous case they (Sherlock) had solved, when he received a notification that someone had commented on a previous blog. Since he had hit a bit of a block with his writing, he decided to click on it. When he read it, he immediately had a sense of foreboding.

“Sherlock,” John said. The man on the couch did not move, or give any indication that he was listening. John became frustrated and stood up, walked over to the sofa and proceeded to drop his laptop onto Sherlock’s stomach. The man’s eyes flew open as he first looked at John, then the laptop resting atop him.

John could tell the exact moment Sherlock had finished reading the comment. His face lit up in a disturbing sort of excitement. A disturbing excitement that, unfortunately, John had become very used to in his time living with the eccentric man.

“Sherlock, please tell me that isn’t who I think its from,” John pleaded, even though he knew it was useless. He knew exactly why he had received this message, and what organization whoever sent it worked for. The message couldn’t have been from anyone other than the Silver Occedere. Sherlock Holmes, we have received your message and would like to meet up with you.

“Don’t be ridiculous John, this is exactly what I wanted to happen,” Sherlock replied, sitting up and placing the laptop onto his thighs, typing out a reply.

A few minutes went by of Sherlock staring at the computer screen, clearly waiting for an answer to whatever he had said. Finally John heard the ding that signalled he had received a notification on his blog, and seconds later a grin spread across Sherlock’s face. 

“Wonderful,” he said, then he stood from the couch, placed the laptop onto the desk, and strode down the hallway into his room.

John stood in the same place he’d been for the past five or so minutes, peering over to the desk where the laptop was. Eventually he gave in to his worry and curiousness and shuffled over to the desk, opening his laptop and typing in his password. Sherlock had not closed the tabs, so the screen still showed the comment section of John’s blog.

Sherlock Holmes, we have received your message and would like to meet up with you.

Very well, send me the time and location.

No need, we will come to you.

\----

Sherlock and John went out for dinner that night. They went to a nice restaurant that was only a few blocks away from Baker Street. Surprisingly, the owner didn’t owe Sherlock any favours. John had tried to ask Sherlock if there was a specific reason for coming to this restaurant, but the man had answered without really answering, so John decided to drop it.

After they had ordered had been waiting for their food a few minutes, John began looking around and noticing the other patrons at the restaurant. They all looked normal enough at first glance, but they gave John an uneasy feeling. He caught a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out of the collar of one man’s shirt, and immediately figured out why.

“Sherlock!” He hissed under his breath. “That man, he has the same symbols tattooed onto him that were carved into Howard Bargroff’s hands! He’s part of the Silver Occedere!”

Sherlock glanced at John as if he were pointing out the most obvious thing in the world. John suddenly realized why Sherlock didn’t give him a straight answer when he asked why they had come to this restaurant. He became furious with the taller man, who had a calm expression on his face, since he clearly didn’t care that they were surrounded by members of the bloody Silver Occedere. 

“Is that why we’re here? Dammit Sherlock! I'm leaving!” John stood up and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

“John!” Sherlock called as he began walking away. “Wait!”

John took a step back towards the table. “I’ve had enough of you manipulating me and putting us both in danger! I’m going home to order takeout and watch the telly, feel free to join me whenever you realize how much of a bloody idiot you are!” With that, John turned on his heel and left the restaurant.

\----

It had been nearly an hour since John had arrived back at 221b Baker Street. At first he had wondered if Sherlock would follow him, but he soon realized that wasn’t going to happen. He tried to convince himself that was fine, he didn’t really want to see Sherlock right now anyway, but he had a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away.

John tried to focus on the telly, but he soon realized that he didn’t even know what he was watching, let alone what was happening. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts. Sherlock should be coming back soon, it had been nearly an hour. He wondered if the man had even brought any money, or if he had just assumed John would pay, as he usually did. John felt extremely guilty, and his worry only grew as more time passed without the other man bursting through the door to the flat. 

What had he been thinking? He had left Sherlock alone in a restaurant full of criminals! Criminals that wanted to ‘meet up’ with him! John suddenly realized how much of an idiot he was, and how much trouble Sherlock was in.

John put on his shoes faster than he ever had before, grabbing his cellphone and dialling Inspector Lestrade's number.

He picked up on the fourth ring.

“John?”

“Greg! I’m an idiot and Sherlock’s in trouble!”

“Shite! What happened?”

“I left him at a restaurant full of members of the Silver Occedere! I left him alone! Greg, hurry!” John rattled off the address as he jumped into a cab, hoping that he was overreacting, that Sherlock was fine and would lecture him about getting in the way of his investigation, and bringing the cops in.

He hoped, but the sense of foreboding never left him.

\----

Sherlock had almost ran out of the restaurant after John. He could tell he had upset the other man, although he wasn’t really sure why. John should have realized that this restaurant would have to do with the case. Besides, it not like Sherlock would ever let any harm come to the doctor.

So yes, he had almost ran out of the restaurant after John. Almost. But he didn’t. He had a case to solve. If he could just figure out which of the people here were high ranking members of the Silver Occedere he could make them tell him information that could help him bring down the entire organization. Or at least find someone who had that information.

The waiter came back with his and John’s food, and he was about to tell him to put it in a takeout box, when a woman sat in John’s vacated seat.

“Mmm, Paella, my favourite,” she said, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of the food. She glanced at the waiter and smiled. “This meal’s on me.” The waiter nodded and quickly scampered away. Sherlock was slightly glad, since he had not brought his wallet, knowing that John had.

Sherlock studied the woman. She was average height, but she wore silver stilettos that were about three inches tall. She had dark hair pulled into a twist at the back of her head and held there by two crossed silver pins. She wore a tight fitting navy dress that stopped just above her knees. She wore no jewelry other than small earrings. She also had a tattoo in the centre of her chest. A tattoo of the flying key of the Silver Occedere.

“Hello,” she greeted, “I’m Alyssa.” She did not extend a hand for Sherlock to shake, and instead opted to take another bite of John’s meal. She had given him a fake name.

“I would introduce myself, but you already know who I am.” Sherlock took a bite of his own meal.

The woman, Alyssa, gave a small laugh that sounded natural but most definitely was not. “Yes, I do. Sherlock Holmes. I was looking forward to our meeting, although we did say we’d come to you.”

“Yes, well, I just couldn’t wait,” Sherlock replied. He knew she didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Very well then. So, why did you want to meet?”

“I think you could make a few guesses.”

“Yes, I suppose I could.”

They were both silent for a few minutes. Alyssa ate more of the meal, but Sherlock didn’t touch his again. It was delicious, but he was on a case.

When Alyssa had finished her meal the waiter returned to take her and Sherlock’s plates.

“I would suggest dessert,” Alyssa began, “but that’s only for boys who finish their meals.”

She then stood up and began walking away. Sherlock hurriedly stood and put his coat on to follow her. She walked out the front doors, Sherlock close behind her. He knew that she was aware he was following. They walked a few blocks, then Alyssa stopped.

“Here we are,” was all she said.

Sherlock looked around. They were at a dog park. He glanced back at Alyssa, but she didn’t own a dog; or any animal for that matter. Then he heard multiple pairs of footsteps approaching behind him. Three men, all who weighed more than Sherlock. Sherlock did not turn to face them.

“Ah, Sherlock Holmes. In the flesh,” said a man. He sounded to be in his late thirties to early forties.

The man walked around Sherlock until he was in front of him, standing beside Alyssa. “Now, you’re going to come with me.”

Before Sherlock had a chance to respond, one of the other men who was still behind him lunged forward, clearly attempting to knock him out. But Sherlock was ready. He sidestepped the man, but apparently that’s what they were expecting. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pinning his arms to his sides. The man who had lunged at him, mid thirties, short, sandy hair, stepped towards him, brandishing a syringe. He plunged it into Sherlock’s neck and pushed the plunger.

Sherlock began feeling disoriented after a few seconds. The arms around him disappeared and he attempted to stagger away. He only made it about twenty steps before he collapsed onto the grass. The world went dark around him.


End file.
